


the taste of a whisper

by aqueeraphale (quills_of_the_wicked)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Hypnotism, M/M, also. hissing., and my kinks include fluff at the end tbh, because as fun as it is it messes with my suspension of disbelief, it's my fic and I get to choose the kinks, poor crowley has such nerves tho, this is the only top!crowley you'll ever get out of me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 20:02:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quills_of_the_wicked/pseuds/aqueeraphale
Summary: In which Aziraphale's curiosity gets the best of him.(Based on a tumblr thread, if that counts as a prompt fill.)





	the taste of a whisper

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this absolute delight of a thread.](https://quills-of-the-wicked.tumblr.com/post/182361065773/how-come-we-as-a-fandom-never-talk-about-the-fact) Disclaimer: not actually pornographic, but pretty sensual nonetheless.

“Just relax, angel.”  
  
“I am relaxed, my dear.  This was my idea, was it not?”  
  
They’re curled up on Aziraphale’s couch, tangled comfortably, fabric to skin to skin.  Crowley’s hands are in his angel’s hair, twirling the dark curls as Aziraphale huffs out a laugh.  
  
“I’m getting into character,” Crowley deflects.  
  
“You didn’t need to ‘get into character’ for the nun.” Aziraphale fixes him with a sharp glance, one eyebrow rapidly approaching the stratosphere.  
  
“Mary?  That was different.”  
  
“Because she was human.”  
  
“Because you’re you,” Crowley corrects.  He hadn’t ever considered using his powers on Aziraphale; for somebody’s sake, he hadn’t even _needed_ to.  Aziraphale was pliant enough just when Crowley spoke, and yet--  
  
“Practicing on yourself, dear?”  
  
“Just...just thinking." Crowley ignores a brief spike in his chest, attributing it to nerves and nothing more. "You remember what we agreed on?”  
  
“Yes, yes, safewords and such.”  Aziraphale twirls his wrist, impatient fingertips skimming Crowley’s shoulder.  “And you accuse me of fussing.”  
  
“ _Sssshhhh,_ ” Crowley hisses in response, just a hint of power slipping in.  Aziraphale blinks, once-twice, and quiets.  The surprise of it working lances through Crowley, lightning-hot, and Aziraphale looks so bloody _pretty_ with that half-entranced look in his eyes Crowley can’t help but kiss him.  The contact is slow and languid, Aziraphale’s usually-demanding pace tempered down to warm, fluid motions.  
  
Crowley’s all but addicted in a few seconds, but he pulls himself away, quietly satisfied with the way Aziraphale pouts.  “ _How wasss that, angel?_ ”  
  
For a moment, Aziraphale squints at him, and Crowley can practically see him shoving words together like haphazard building blocks.  “Wonderful,” he eventually settles on, smiling sleepily.  The relaxation looks gorgeous on him, Crowley decides, smoothing the worry off his face and leaving him glowing.  
  
“ _Good,_ ” Crowley purrs, once he’s done being stunned by Aziraphale’s eyes.  “ _Do you want--_ ” Aziraphale nods before Crowley can finish, pupils blown wide under thick eyelashes. His hands slide up and around Crowley, clinging to the small of his back.  “ _Easy, pretty angel._ ”  There’s a hint of a command tucked into it, and Aziraphale obeys, relaxing nearly to limpness, until Crowley can guide his hand forward and kiss his knuckles.  Aziraphale lets his eyes fall shut, drinking in the attention. At least that much stays constant, Crowley notes with some amusement and some greater relief.  
  
By the time Crowley has kissed down to Aziraphale’s wrist, the angel is squirming.  “Crowley,” he whispers, and when his voice cracks the sound arcs down Crowley’s spine.  
  
There’s no point to holding out any longer, not when Crowley can dive down to claim Aziraphale’s mouth, not when he can pin Aziraphale’s arms above his head, not when Aziraphale chokes on a breath and Crowley can graze their tongues against one another. The angel melts beneath him, and when Crowley lets go of his wrists Aziraphale keeps them still. He doesn't pull away until the urge to explore takes him, and his tongue instinctively scents the air. Sweat, cinnamon, and just a hint of something deep and warm that clings eternally to Aziraphale's neck. Perfect. Dark eyes focus on Crowley, and if he weren't supposed to be in control he would melt himself. “ _Just hold sssstill for me, angel. You'll enjoy it._ ”  
  
Crowley knows he's right, knows that Aziraphale would never refuse something as simple and gentle as this, knows that Aziraphale has ample opportunity to withdraw if he cares to.   Still, he pauses, rolls words around his mouth.  " _You_ are _enjoying this, right, angel?_ " he shambles out after a moment. 

Aziraphale doesn't hesitate, and his eyes seem to clear for a moment with the ease of it.  "Of course.  Carry on."

Crowley can't help but grin, half wicked and half overjoyed, channeling the energy buzzing through his fingers into kissing his angel back into a daze.  With closed eyes, his hands trace familiar paths down Aziraphale's sides: ghosting across the softness clinging to his hips, pressing in all the right places to make him shiver.  (Not that Aziraphale had many wrong places, not around Crowley, and certainly not when Crowley's hands aren't ice-cold.)

By the time Crowley traces a languid trail to Aziraphale's collarbone, both of them are close to shaking, and Aziraphale is too far gone to avoid whining wordlessly.  Crowley rests his chin against Aziraphale's shoulder, tongue slipping out in a quiet hiss.  His pupils are all but round.  " _Aziraphale,_ " he asks softly, and grins at how the angel's eyes snap right to him.  " _What do you want from this?_ "

"Everything," Aziraphale responds, and Crowley doesn't even think of refusing.

* * *

When all is said and done, Aziraphale comes to with the ease of a fish breaking the surface.  He immediately enfolds Crowley in his arms and rolls, pinning Crowley beneath him.  They both laugh softly, Crowley leaning up to press their foreheads together.  "You doing all right, angel?" he asks, every trace of undertone gone from his voice, leaving his concern unmasked.

Aziraphale responds by kissing him until his head spins, and he figures that's direct enough of an answer.  "Quite," Aziraphale adds when he pulls away, voice somewhere between raspy and sleepy, eyes half-closed as he imagines a pillow beneath both of their heads.

"Is  _this_ what it takes to make you sleepy, angel?" Crowley snickers, turning his face into the pillow as his eyes crinkle warmly.  For his trouble, he gets a swat of feathers to the shoulder, and he's too warm where he is to check if it's a wing or another pillow.  It's not as if it matters when Aziraphale is nosing sleepily into his hair, soft hands pressing into the small of his back, lulling him off into dozing comfort.

"I love you, angel," Crowley murmurs, holding out against sleep just a moment longer.

"I love you too, my dear."  Aziraphale presses a kiss to his forehead, and the curls of their matching smiles follow Crowley into his dreams.

 

**Author's Note:**

> okay, this last part was unplanned, but writing things like this without some mention of aftercare makes me feel gross and itchy.


End file.
